


forelsket

by withoutwords



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Poetry, Prompt Fill, some religious themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 00:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12545000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: Jonas has always been intrigued by tornado minds.





	forelsket

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt fill for garnetgale over on tumblr!

Mikael likes to stretch Jonas’ arm across his lap and scribble over it. Song lyrics, mostly, poems sometimes, a quote he read on Twitter that _was just hipster enough to make me think of you._ Jonas likes to take a picture of them, and share them around, and ignore Mahdi’s _seriously?_ face every time he scrolls past.

“Shut up, man,” Jonas finds himself saying over and over again. A record that doesn't want to find the groove. “We’re just friends.”

“I believe you,” Mahdi concedes, then flashes his screen at Jonas with one of his favourites, _it is here to hurt your heart, use it to save your art_. “But does Mikael?

“Yes,” Jonas grunts pushing Mahdi’s phone away, pushing everything else away too.

They’re just friends.

*

Jonas knows so many people he often loses track. People at school, and people at the skate park, and people at the _Narvesen_ where he works now and then. Eva used to tell him he was good at it, interaction (she doesn’t say much to him these days, ironically) – but he’s never been any good at names.

“You remembered Even’s pretty fast,” Isak says, him, Jonas and Mikael squashed together on Isak’s couch, PlayStation remotes tangled around them.

“No,” Jonas argues. “I remembered the guy you had a crush on who was always hovering around your locker.”

“You remembered _my_ name,” Mikael cuts in. 

“ _No,_ I remembered the guy who punched my best friend.”

“Jonas is terrible with names and Isak is terrible at PlayStation,” Even interrupts, popping his head in from the kitchen, his hair standing on end. “Can someone come help me with this salad?”

“Coming!” Isak calls, pulling a face, and when he disappears Mikael edges a little closer.

“Just write them all down,” he says, pulling a marker from somewhere and grabbing Jonas’ hand. _Isak, Even, Mikael_ , he starts, then moves onto the others, _Sana_ _, Adam, Mutasim._

“I do shower you know,” Jonas says, but he can’t help his smile, letting Mikael turn his hand to do some more. _Eva, Elias, Yousef._

“Liar.”

*

Jonas doesn’t want for things, but he has a hungry heart. He feels like he’s filling it, over and over – with songs on his guitar, or cartoons drawn by Even, or meals shared with the boys and games played with his sister. He feels like he devours the world, eating it up for himself. 

“Is that, I don’t know,” he asks Mikael, whose faith is always there but is not something he usually talks about. “Is that bad, to take so much for yourself?”

Mikael rolls his eyes at Jonas, nothing if not fond. “Take? What do you take? You’re the only person I know that’s whole house can be recycled and turned into a windmill farm.”

“Idiot,” Jonas says, but he feels warm, sated, that it’s how Mikael sees him.

“Are you asking me that because I’m Muslim?” Mikael asks in a quiet voice, pulling out a marker again and reaching for Jonas’ arm.

“No. I guess.”

“It’s not about …” he starts to scribble, Jonas’ arm flat on his bed, the touch feather light. “Look, I do a lot of things that traditionally doesn’t _fit_ with Islam but that doesn’t change who I am, and what I believe. That can’t be taken away from me because other people don’t agree.”

“Of course.”

“Then live your own life. Take and take and take.”

_I forgot what it feels like to regret my sins_

*

Mikael works for a copy editor, and a painter, and a florist. He works like it isn’t work at all; like every new day is a grand adventure. Jonas is devoured by his jealousy, desperate for his last few months of school to just be _over_. Who is he when he’s not in the world, anyway?

“No,” Mikael howls at him, laughing, “No, no, don’t.”

He writes, _you be anything you want, just keep going, going, gone, gone, gone_ – black scrawl from Jonas’ wrist up to his elbow. They’re always meaningful, or thoughtful, like he has a catalogue in his brain; just waiting to spit them all out and splash them around.

Jonas has always been intrigued by tornado minds.

“I’m not Tom Riddle’s diary,” he mutters, relieved when Mikael laughs, and _gets it_.

“Fuck, I hope not,” Mikael says, “Then you wouldn’t be real.”

Jonas snatches the marker and writes, “Hello, Harry Potter,” and Mikael leaves it there for days.

*

Jonas has never identified as anything definite. Life, body, spirit, it’s always been an endless maze that he’s happy to be stuck in. He used to be someone he doesn’t recognise now – drugs and lies and fighting – and he’ll probably be someone different tomorrow.

Different like he is right now.

“I think I like Mikael,” he tells Even, a little bit drunk and another quote on his arm.

_norwegian by birth, but universal in spirit._

“Okay,” Even says with a nod, magnanimous and quiet and as much Even as he’s ever been. “Does he know?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t know if I should tell him, I mean, I know you and he - ”

“That was different,” Even says, grabbing Jonas’ knee, giving it a shake. “I wasn’t well back then, and I wasn’t very fair to him.”

“Okay.”

Even’s eyes flicker across the room, where the back door’s open, where their friends are all crowded around and talking. “He’s a good guy,” he says, and Jonas’ eyes drift to Mikael, where his head is on Adam’s shoulder and he’s laughing. He’s beautiful. “If you want to tell him, you should.”

*

Jonas loved Eva in a way that he can’t explain when asked. Isak has, and Magnus has, and Mikael did too, a little tipsy, a little fumbling. It’s like one of those foreign words that has no translation – _I loved her like it cracked something open and the doctor couldn’t work out what was wrong_.

He feels like that with Mikael.

Because he’s a guy, maybe, because he’s a friend, because he’s the first person Jonas has met that will watch Nancy Meyers films one night and then want to go jump out of a plane the next. He doesn’t make sense because he makes perfect sense.

“Here,” Jonas says, pulling a red marker from his pocket and stealing Mikael’s arm.

_I like him and I want to be like him._

Mikael watches, seems to hold his breath, still where Jonas’ hands are shaking. When he’s done Mikael grabs his own pen, too, and writes the same thing but on Jonas’ arm instead _. I like him and I want to be like him_ , and they keep doing it over and over until they’re laughing, muffled little sounds, and Mikael comes in to kiss.

Jonas opens his mouth, but it’s quick and chaste and sparks.

“I like you and I want you to just be you,” he says quietly and Jonas laughs and promises he will and demands a better kiss this time.

Mikael pulls him down so they can.

*

_so let me kiss you instead_

_and let my lips_

_paint for you_

_all the pictures_

_that my clumsy heart_

_cannot._

**Author's Note:**

> poetry by noor unnahar, richard siken and atticus. lyrics by wiz khalifa and the weeknd. quote is Liv Ullman. 
> 
> tumblr is [thefancyspin](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com). :)


End file.
